Who's The Real Hero?
by Forbiddensoul562
Summary: Some things never die, not old affections, nor England's quiet protection over America. Slight USUK. Plz r&r.


A/N: So, I was desperately trying to figure out how to start off one of my other story ideas, which is actually RussiaxChina. But instead, my beta gave me the prompt of writing an AmericaxEngland, with the theme of Canadian geese. Random, I know… but hey, I had to do it. Originally it was supposed to be _only_ 500 words, no more, no less. But as I was editing it down, I hated myself for it. Ha, so this is the original version. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, or any of the characters used in this fic!

Title: Who's the Real Hero?

America didn't know when exactly he'd decided it was a good idea to sit outside his home. It was fall, and every day it was getting colder and colder, proving the imminent return of winter to his country. Things were always so much quieter around this time, but America didn't know why. It was just something that happened, as sure as each of the coming seasons.

All he knew for sure was that despite England staying at his house for the upcoming G8 meeting being held in New York in a few days, that after getting into a fight with the Brit, he'd been compelled to leave _his own house_ come outside. He'd intended to walk around, but the setting sun had captured his attention too much for him to remember to.

Instead, he sat down on a nearby hill in order to watch it. It was rare that he took the time to just slow down and watch something like this.

With nothing else coming to mind, he let his thoughts begin to reminisce back into his memories.

He remembered watching this same sort of scene lots of times before, though, in years passed. However, he wasn't sure if he had ever appreciated it like he seemed to now. Something about the cool weather mixed with the scene made him calm down.

Maybe that was the effect it had on his citizens, as well. He pushed the thought away, though.

Things had changed so much over the two centuries he'd been alone as a country. As much as he loved being on his own, independent, and finally able to do things for himself without being held back by England, there was also a part of him that missed when he was just a colony.

He had been so close to England before he'd gone and messed it all up with the revolution.

Sitting up with a sigh, America removed Texas in order to rub at his eyes, and push a hand through his hair. He couldn't get the image of England in the mud, breaking down from the pain of losing America.

To this day, America never understood what had come over England. Even still, he regretted not going over to him, and helping him up, or telling him things would be alright again. The way England used to do for him when he was a child.

'_I wasn't much of a hero, back then.'_ America thought to himself.

Suddenly, there came the feeling of warmth being laid over him, and as America put his glasses back on and looked back, he saw England finish draping Alfred's bomber jacket over his shoulders before sitting down next to him -- a solemn look on his face. Alfred had hardly realized he'd left the house without it when he stormed out.

'_Still trying to take care of me, Arthur?'_ America wondered, watching him. _'Some things never die…'_

"What're you thinking so hard about, you git?" England shot at him with a glare when he realized America was watching him silently.

America gave one of his goofy grins before looking back out at the deep orange sky, which was quickly turning deep blue with the approaching night. "Nothing, nothing!" He said as his grin remained. He laid his hands on the grass, and leant back a bit.

Suddenly, one of England's warm hands overlapped his own. "Look, Alfred, Canadian geese." They both watched as the geese flew in their characteristic V-shape across the darkening sky.

"Must be heading south, where it's warmer." America told him, watching, and feeling the warmth from not only where England had laid his jacket over him, as well as the comforting feeling diffused into him from where their hands lay together on the grass, offering him an unspoken comfort. An unspoken protection from whatever evils were out there, on that warm horizon. America chanced one more look at England, as he thought to himself.

'_You're the real hero, here.'_

The End

A/N: Yes, short. Just a little drabble that I ended up thinking was a great idea. I know America is supposed to be oblivious, and heroic, and loud and all that. But I couldn't help but think of the idea of him without the other nations (minus England) being a lot more calm, and able to think a lot more clearly. I hope you liked it! Leave me a note letting me know what you think, please!

Please review  
-Forbiddensoul562


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